


On Hands and Knees

by zealous_whispers_of_us



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s Bucky, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zealous_whispers_of_us/pseuds/zealous_whispers_of_us
Summary: He thinks of her and her God in the cavernous silence of war.





	On Hands and Knees

**Author's Note:**

> It took ages, but I discovered how much I love Hozier. This is inspired by 'Work Song.' It is Bucky/unnamed!OFC. I am trying to work on the dynamics of a fic that has been years in the making.

_Darling,_

_If I close my eyes and think on it hard enough, I can imagine that I’m back home, lying in bed with you next to me, looking so ~~damn~~  pretty that I don’t know what to do with myself. I had you in my bed for a week and what I wouldn’t have given to have made it last the rest of my  ~~goddamn~~  life. We didn’t do half of the things I promised all those months ago, but I don’t think it mattered much in the end. I had you for a week, and that’s all an unlucky  ~~bastard~~  guy like me could have asked for._

_I couldn’t believe it when you were there waiting for me as casual and sweet as anything like I didn’t just leave you days before. It was the best surprise that I could have asked for; seeing you again before I was dropped into this Hell._

* * *

 

Shells constantly rained now. The sounds broke the stillness of the night of gunfire and the shouts of soldiers. And if you were one of the unlucky ones, you’d hear as bullets or shrapnel met their marks and brought down men, leaving nothing but a puddle of blood and a sharp yell that rang in your ears for minutes afterward.

It was here, in his foxhole, when Bucky found himself thinking of God. He’d never been particularly religious, mostly because he could not imagine why some guy in the sky would make his family suffer so, what with George Barnes’s heavy drinking and even heavier fists. When he was young, his Ma had tried her best to teach him the chants and the prayers. Steve also took him to Mass, and he helped his friend memorize Bible verses until they could recite them in their sleep. Still, it never  _truly_  resonated with him. Bucky couldn’t understand the point. 

Of course, as it always went when a guy met a girl, everything changed when he met her. She’d been wearing a silver cross around her neck. Bucky never saw her take it off. She knew all of her hymns, all of her prayers. She knew the taste of communion wine; she had favorite Bible passages, favorite church dresses, and favorite sermons. She wore her family’s Saint Barbara medallion like it was her lifeline, protecting her from everything big and wrong in the world. She wore it right up until she’d decided that Bucky needed it more than her. She’d given it to him before he shipped out and before she returned to Wisconsin with a promise to write to him. He wore it now, under his military uniform, pressed against his heart. With every jingle of the metal against his dog tags, he thought of her, thought of the love of his life.

He thought of her in those moments of deafening silence where the only thing you could do was wait until the shelling started up again and until the bombs rattled the ground. Bucky thought of her. The dirt under her fingernails, the quirk of her lips, the unruly curls in her hair. 

She was planning on going to college, despite what her father had demanded. She was smart. One of the most intelligent people that Bucky had ever met, which was (he supposed) an easy feat since he never even finished high school. Though, she never looked down her nose at him for it because she was  _sweet._  Toothachingly sweet. Too sweet for himself, if Bucky was honest. She hadn’t even kissed a boy when they met. Bucky felt bad corrupting her; then  _she_  kissed _him_  behind the barracks at Camp McCoy where he was training. Her cousin ran the camp, and she came whenever she could to help out. And there, amidst the muck and mud of Wisconsin, she met Bucky. They had a conversation over real coffee -no rations for soldiers- and then he'd gotten a letter from her. They'd written back and forth, using her brother as an unknowing intermediary. Whenever she would come to the base, Bucky would make sure to see her, if only for a moment. And eventually, she'd kissed him, quick and sweet. And then he'd fallen in love. 

She was different than all the women in New York. Not a good different, not a bad different. Just _different_. She wasn’t as friendly, not at first. Used to only her close family, she visibly started when Bucky moved too close. She was quiet and thoughtful, choosing her words and actions carefully before she did them. Sometimes it drove Bucky crazy watching her. He was used to the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn. He talked fast; he gestured grandly. She spoke slow and struggled with eye contact. She was gentler too. Bucky couldn’t explain it. The look about her wasn’t what he was used to. It was less…  _polished._  All soft lines and smudged nail polish. Hair blowing in her face. A run in her stocking that got worse until she got a new pair. She was a farm girl. And  _Jesus Christ_ , Bucky loved her for it.

Dawn was quickly rising around them as Bucky sighed sadly, itching to go home. He wanted this horrible war to be over. He wanted to take a real bath, have a delicious meal, and then go to sleep in a real bed with a real woman curled around him. She slept like the dead, Bucky remembered. Nothing roused her, not even the noisy streets of Brooklyn. 

He pulled out a letter she’d written him ages ago before he was shipped out to Azzano. It was crinkled and barely legible under the fading light, but Bucky had the thing memorized anyway. He traced the edges with a careful thumb, imagining her huddled over at a desk and taking ages to figure out what she wanted to say. He smiled.

_JBB,_

_I don’t want to be the type of girl that you lie to. I am not dumb; I know what war means and what it does to people. Save those sweet words for your ma and your sisters, so they don’t worry about you. But promise me that you won’t ever mollify me. I will know if you’re lying. Talk to me about it all; I don’t care. I’ll listen to you. I’ll distract you._

_Speaking of-_

_Remember how I told you that Papa was going to sell Louisa for a new colt? Well, he did, and I’m pretty sure that he must have gotten mixed up with a wild stallion or something because he is impossible. A few days ago, Arnold was feeding the other horses, and this little colt comes up behind him and butts him with his nose. It was the gentlest tap ever, of course, but Arnold went flying forward and barely missed landing on top of the chicken coop. Ruckus ensued. The chickens flipped their lids, yelling and screaming outside on their stubby little feet to see what all the commotion was about. Gus (the rooster, you remember) pecked Arnold as if to say ‘who do you think you are to disturb my girls and me?’_ _Everyone started laughing after that, and then the little colt (who we still have yet to name) whinnied in a way that sounded like he was laughing too. All the other horses glared at him, but it was pretty funny to us at the time._

_Now that I write it, it doesn’t seem that funny, since Arnie could have been killed. It still wasn’t as bad as when Papa got stepped on by our old mare. He said it felt like a truck rolling over his foot. But I digress._

_Where was I before that? Yes, don’t you dare lie to me, okay? Okay. I’ve said my piece. Write to me when you can, sheik. I miss you._

Tucking the letter back in his pocket, Bucky sniffed. It stank out here. Blood and dirt and gunpowder and sweat and smoke coated his lungs. The perfume she’d sprayed on her letter had faded long ago. He wanted to feel clean again. He felt a pang in his chest as he looked down at his fingernails, dirtier than hers would ever be, and hoped he would get out of this alive.

“Barnes!” someone sounded like Dugan, shouted for him.

He stood up. The war was due to erupt any second now.


End file.
